


Strange, Familiar

by stephanericher



Series: SASO 17 [4]
Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-11
Updated: 2017-06-11
Packaged: 2018-11-12 19:27:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11168532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stephanericher/pseuds/stephanericher
Summary: “Give me a few seconds before I’m drunk enough for that to work.”





	Strange, Familiar

**Author's Note:**

> published for saso br1, original prompt [here](http://sportsanime.dreamwidth.org/21522.html?thread=10172690#cmt10172690) (alex is yosen's coach; masako is tatsuya's teacher)

Himuro Tatsuya shows up in the end of June, straight out of Los Angeles. Alex hasn’t been back there since retiring, but California kids haven’t changed one bit if he’s a good example, all relaxed posture and basketball stats waxing poetic about In-n-Out fries.  
  
“You used to play for the Sparks, didn’t you?” he asks, after practice one day (he always stays late, even after Murasakibara, taking extra shots or doing some sort of conditioning or going over the game plans after Kenichi’s done with them).  
  
If she knew him better, she might snark back a congratulatory remark about using Google. Instead, she nods.  
  
“I used to watch you play,” he says, and he never mentions it again.  
  
Alex hasn’t seen a WNBA game in years (it hurts too much to even think about; she’s selfish and jealous and having this much of basketball, a group of kids who she can nudge in the right direction of making plays and gaining confidence is more than enough for her now). All of her coaches had stressed defensive basketball, fundamentals—but not to the extent where just watching would give anyone as strong a foundation as Tatsuya has. Even the bigger kids are still mostly lucky blockers when she gets them, don’t quite have the theory behind the timing right. Hell, Alex has played with veterans who’d had less of an understanding than Tatsuya does right now of the how and why of defensive basketball.  
  
“Where’d you learn such aggressive steals?” she asks him.  
  
“I had a really good coach back home,” he says. “She taught me everything I know.”  
  
It’s the same answer on which he always seems to arrive, about his crisp frees and perfect dribbles, and Alex begins to wonder. (Her first thought is that Tatsuya had somehow conned some big-time star into being his coach, or that he’d made the whole thing up, and, well—there’s something just a little dangerous about him, something that says maybe he’s capable of all that.) Whoever this coach is, if she wants a job at Yosen she wouldn’t have to ask Alex twice.  
  
Tatsuya’s coach is at the back of her mind by the time the winter cup rolls around and Alex is more worried about Seirin high, their so-called sixth man who seems to play every minute of every game, and their forward who hadn’t even played on his middle school team but was somehow good enough to shove Touou’s blue chips Aomine, Susa, and Wakamatsu into the trash. Truthfully, Alex might rather be facing Touou—at least those three are known quantities.  
  
“Coach!”  
  
Alex looks up, but Tatsuya’s not talking to her. He’s waving across the way at a petite woman in a suit, long dark hair swept over her shoulders. She waves back at him and holy shit, she’s absolutely gorgeous. There’s no way she could be Tatsuya’s coach, someone who knows that much and be that pretty? That kind of stuff happens once every so often, not twice in the same city with teacher and student.  
  
“There’s no way,” says Kensuke behind her, and Kenichi takes that moment to almost burst into tears.  
  
“How does Himuro know such a beautiful woman? Why can’t my childhood teacher be beautiful and wave to me in front of everyone?”  
  
“That kind of thing doesn’t happen to gorillas,” says Wei. “Be realistic.”  
  
Even Atsushi is staring, his jaw hanging open. Tatsuya’s coach is striding toward them, and Tatsuya’s smiling at her, much closer to a real smile than Alex has ever seen from him and it’s a relief to know that he can and does let some barriers down to some people).  
  
“It’s so good to see you, Masako!” says Tatsuya, in English.  
  
“Likewise,” says his coach, pulling him into a quick embrace. “You look well.”  
  
“It’s not fair,” Kenichi moans, and Kensuke smacks him on the shoulder.  
  
Atsushi looks like he wants to shred the bag of licorice in his hand; Wei looks like he’s about to go up to Tatsuya’s coach and start hitting on her. Tatsuya takes that moment to turn around and assess the situation.  
  
“If you’ll excuse me.”  
  
They all start talking at once, Tatsuya attempting to smooth over the situation, Kenichi to keep complaining, Kensuke and Wei to dogpile on top of him, and Atsushi to try and focus the attention back on him. Tatsuya’s coach is standing off to the side, a slight smile on her face. She must have been worried about him, off on his own in a country he doesn’t really know.  
  
“I’m sorry,” says Alex. “I don’t think we’ve been introduced? You must be Tatsuya’s coach from LA. I’m Garcia, Yosen’s coach.”  
  
“Yes” says Tatsuya’s coach, hurrying into a bow. “I’m Araki.”  
  
“Tatsuya speaks very highly of you, you know,” Alex says. “I’ve never seen defensive discipline that good in a kid his age, so you have a lot to be proud of.”  
  
“Does he?” says Araki, but she can’t hide her smile. “That’s nice of him.”  
  
Her smile is nice—not that Alex would ever say it, not that it’s appropriate right now, but—God. She wants to pick Araki’s brain, get her to tell all her secrets about getting defensive basketball to stick, talk about how things are back in LA, invite her out for a drink—this is stupid; she’s overcomplicating things.  
  
“Hey,” Alex says, before she can stop herself. “Are you staying somewhere in Tokyo?”  
  
“With Taiga,” says Araki. “One of my other students.”  
  
“Is that around here? Because, if you’re up for it—it’s not often I get the chance to talk basketball with someone my own age, so if you wanted to go out for drinks…”  
  
(God, she sounds pathetic; she really has been spending way too much time around high-schoolers and their pathetic pickup lines that only ever work because they’re using them on each other.)  
  
“That would be great,” says Araki.  
  
Alex tries not to act as excited as she feels.

* * *

Araki is a beer drinker, as if Alex needs another reason to get pathetic over her. She also insists on using first names before they’re done with the first round, and it’s way too easy to start calling her Masako. Midway through the second, Alex realizes that they’ve barely talked about basketball at all—mostly about Tatsuya, and a little about LA. The traffic’s still bad and most of her favorite restaurants are still closed, although the hole-in-the-wall taqueria right by the overpass is still there and their happy hour is still just as cheap as ever (Alex had spent far too many nights in college getting hammered off of one-dollar Coors and Tecate to ever forget the place). They’ve slipped into English, and it’s almost weird to be speaking it with someone other than her parents but with Masako it feels good.  
  
“I grew up in Akita,” Masako says. “Seems like kind of an odd place to go after LA.”  
  
It’s blunt, but it’s true. Alex shrugs.  
  
“I needed to get away. I got sick, and I didn’t want to be reminded of being healthy as much.”  
  
“Shit,” says Masako. “I’m sorry.”  
  
“It is what it is,” says Alex. “I can’t keep dwelling on the past. I like it up there. It’s nice getting snow in the winter, rain in the fall.”  
  
“I miss the rain,” says Masako. “And the humidity. My skin’s always fucking drying out.”  
  
Alex laughs. “You look good.”  
  
“I’ve been here for a week.”  
  
“I bet you’d look good even with all of your skin flaking.”  
  
Masako tosses back what’s left in her pint glass. “Give me a few seconds before I’m drunk enough for that to work.”  
  
Hearing that, seeing the lazy attraction in Masako’s eyes, traveling up Alex’s bare neck and across her face, makes Alex feel even braver.  
  
“How about I just say you’re fucking gorgeous now?”  
  
“That might work,” says Masako, but her hand’s already on Alex’s knee under the table.


End file.
